


My Conductor of Light

by Trickkyy



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Movie Fusion, Alternate Universe - Sherlock Holmes & John Watson Meet Differently, Angst, BAMF John, Big Brother Mycroft, Bullied Sherlock Holmes, Crossover, Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Moriarty Is A Dick, Mycroft Being a Good Brother, Protective John, Protective Mycroft, Sherlock / My Bodyguard Crossover, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Teen Angst, Teen Crush, Teen John, Teen John Watson, Teen Lestrade, Teen Molly Hooper, Teen Moriarty, Teen Sherlock, Teen Years, Teenlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-11
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2019-03-16 23:47:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 16,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13646961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trickkyy/pseuds/Trickkyy
Summary: Sherlock Holmes gets put into Sherrinford Institute, a new state school, after moving closer to London for his fathers work. Starting off at a new school is hard, especially when introduced to the school bully on the first day: Jim Moriarty. Its not until a silent hero makes his presence known, that Sherlock actually has a chance in protecting himself and potentially taking Moriarty down.He's all but found his conductor of light.(This fic is inspired by the 1980s film: 'My Bodyguard'.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been working on this fic on and off for months after getting the idea almost a year ago from the film. Hope you enjoy!

Sherlock walked into Sherrinford Institute with sashayed confidence and little care. Being his first day in this new state school, and away from an all boys public Institute, left him a little anxious. Mycroft, his older brother had assured him multiple times that this is simply just a new chapter in his life and to ‘just go with it’. 

The marble halls were easy enough to navigate through as he glanced down at his timetable and maneuvered through the other uniformed students with care. English Literature was his first class with M. Morstan. 

The numbering of 213a caught his eye as he made his way into the classroom and scanned the seats selectively. All of the young faces surrounding him were busy chatting and gossiping amongst themselves. Girls in pigtails and chewing gum blabbered amongst themselves after giving him an eyeful, and the boys just blatantly ignored him, deciding it was better to arm wrestle amongst themselves. Sherlock scanned the whole room until his eye landed on a seat right next to a tanned young man with dark brown hair and premature grey strands, who was sitting off in the corner and surrounded by empty seats. 

“Is this one taken?” Sherlock pointed to an empty seat, already setting down his paper filled binder and placing his book bag on the floor. The brown haired boy just eyed him before shaking his head and looking out the window. 

The door to the classroom swung open and a middle aged woman with short blonde hair stepped in with her bag full of papers, setting them on her desk and clearing her throat loudly. The students quickly sat straight in their desks while gum was taken out of mouths and squished to the bottom of chairs. Sherlock shook his head in disgust.

“Good morning class, my name is Miss. Morstan. You can call me Miss or Miss. M, either is fine,” she pulled out a large binder and flipped it open while scanning the room. “With this new school year brings us new faces so I'll be calling on attendance.”

Miss went through most of the alphabet until coming to H and flagging Sherlock instantly, “Mr. Holmes” she called and he raised his hand with an audible sigh. She continued, “Sherlock comes to us from a private school just North of London, so please be kind if you see him in the halls. I'm sure many of you will run into him in other classes so-“

Just then the classroom door flew open and three suspicious looking fifteen year olds marched into the room, hands in pockets and manic grins in their lips. 

“A pleasure for you to finally join us Mr. Moriarty, Ms. Adler and Mr. Wilkes.” 

The three of them were lined up in height with the Adler and Wilkes characters on either side of the smaller more disturbed looking Moriarty fellow. His dark hair was gelled back and his uniform lay prestige on his frame while he tossed a red apple in his hands. 

“Please find seats, children” Miss instructed, before having to catch the bright red apple that was tossed her way. 

“Lovely to see you again, Mary.” Moriarty smiled, eyes darting around the classroom all while a hint of something Sherlock could not place, lingered in his eyes. 

Miss eyed him skeptically while placing the apple on her desk with a loud thud, “That's _Miss. Morstan_ , James. Another call like that and you’ll be sent to the headmaster.”

James just rolled his eyes in delight and glided down the rows of seats until he stood directly in front of Sherlock's. “You must be new,” he started, running his eyes around while Sherlock sunk lower in his chair in discomfort. “I believe you took my seat.”

“I was here first” he spat back, refusing to get up and leave.

“James!” Miss piped up and pointed to a seat right beside a mousy looking brown haired girl, “There's a seat free right there beside Molly, take it.” 

Moriarty just tisked and shook his head with a fake grin as he made his way to the other desk, just staring at Sherlock with his large black eyes. 

“Don't mind Jim, he's just a twat.” 

Sherlock turned around to face the brown haired boy and sat up in his chair, “He doesn't scare me.” 

“Well he should,” the boy chuckled, playing with the eraser on his desk, “Jim’s a right bastard and lunatic. He's gunna kill someone one day, mark my words.” 

Sherlock turned his head to be greeted by the smiling face of Jim from only two desks down. Right away he knew this boy would not let this down. Just beside him, Wilkes dragged his thumb across his neck as if saying ‘you’re dead’, and Adler just sent him a mischievous toothy grin - outlined by vibrant red lipstick. 

“I'm Greg, by the way” the boy beside him spoke up and Sherlock's attention was once again returned to him, “You can just call me Lestrade.”

~

Class was dismissed early and taking a look at his timetable once more, he ventured toward the music class: 221b, with Greg on his tail.

“So you came from where?” 

Sherlock looked over his shoulder before answering, “Royston Academy.” 

Greg’s mouth shot open and his eyes widened after dodging a passing student who was running to the loo, “That's an all boys, isn't it? Bloody expensive I've heard too.” 

Sherlock shrugged and turned a corner, long and slender legs aiding in the quick strides to the class. 

“So why’d ya move?” 

“My fathers job. He's a corporate manager and my brother is applying to a government position.” 

“Must be well off then,” Greg voiced, managing to finally walk in stride with the slightly taller boy, “Wouldn't be sharing that information to just anyone though. Jim’s a right prick and goes collecting money from us unlucky blokes. If he hears you’re rolling in notes, lord knows he’ll be on you to donate as well.” 

Sherlock snorted dryly, “He's not taking a single pound from my pocket.” 

“Oh am I now...?” 

The two boys froze on the spot just outside of their classroom and turned around to see Jim Moriarty with that deadly smile and soulless eyes, staring. 

Sherlock took a step forward and placed his hands on his hips to appear even taller, “You’ve heard correctly.” 

Jim laughed hysterically, clutching at his sides until two recognizable figures emerged from behind lockers. Sherlock heard Greg swallow uncomfortably, shuffling backwards. “C-C’mon, Sherlock let's get to class.” 

“Yea, Sherlock,” Adler purred, “Why don't you listen to your little puppy.” 

“He's not my ‘puppy’.” Sherlock shot back, already feeling his fists clenching. They were outnumbered, he knew, and he wanted to avoid as much physical contact as he could, being the slim, tall and ‘nerdy’ type that got him made fun of at his last school. But he knew, even now, than to let people get under his skin. His brother had taught him that. 

Greg pulled him from his thoughts by yanking on his arm and reaching for the door to 221b. 

“See you after school ‘Lockie'” Jim spat, his Irish accent accentuating the threat further. 

“Catch. You. Later.” Sherlock replied and was dragged into the room with the door closing behind him. 

“You’re gonna get yourself killed, you know” Greg voiced, walking over to an empty seat and plopping the taller boy into it.  

“It won't be a loss.” 

Greg huffed and rolled his eyes, dropping himself into another seat and lounging until their next teacher, Mrs. Hudson, came through the door with a kind smile. 

“Good morning class, my name is Mrs. Hudson and this is music. Now some faces I recognize from last years class, while others are new ones so let's go through attendance!” 

Much like last class, Sherlock rolled his eyes at the tedious name calling and waiting for others to respond dutifully. When Mrs. Hudson had reached his name, he stuck a hand up and then crossed his arms, scooting further down his seat.

“John Watson” Mrs. Hudson called and the class went completely silent. All of the kids’ eyes widened as they looked over to their friends in horror. 

Again, Mrs. Hudson repeated the name, “Is John Watson here?” 

Sherlock’s interest peaked at the reaction that name was getting from the room. It was as if the name was linked to someone with a questionable reputation. When he looked over to ask Goffrey about the commotion, he noticed his new acquaintance had gone slightly pale. 

“What's wrong, Lestrade?” 

Greg shifted uncomfortably in his chair, “John Watson is a walking murderer. A killer.” 

This interested Sherlock even further “What do you mean...killer?”

“I heard that John Watson killed his little sister and witnessed him throw a kid out the window on the second floor.” 

“Is that all true?”

Greg nodded vigorously, “I saw it with my own two eyes,” he whispered. 

The class chatter began to grow and Mrs. Hudson was having a hard time trying to control the noise before the door opened and a wave of silence followed after. It was as if a pin dropped in the room - harsh breathing and over-beating hearts of the other kids being the only sound. Standing at the door in ragged clothing with sandy blond hair all askew, was a short but sturdy built boy. Checking him out further, he had on old ripped up black uniform trousers and an old tattered yellow and black rugby jacket which rested snugly on his shoulders. Sherlock was instantly intrigued, sitting up straighter in his chair to watch as the young man walk into the classroom to an empty seat in the corner, all eyes glued on him. 

“Ah, welcome Mr. Watson. Now class, let us begin with picking out instruments. I want three of your choices written on paper and we will have a little session to pick which ones best for you.” 

As Mrs.Hudson rambled on, Sherlock just remained staring at the unfamiliar boy with interest. Who was this John Watson and why had he picked up such a reputation? He was even more eager to find out once the class was excused for lunch.

~

“He doesn't look like much of a threat.” 

“Hm?” Greg asked after swallowing a fork full of corn.

“Watson” Sherlock clarified, not even bothering to touch the food in front of him. 

Watson was sitting alone at one of the tables, hunched over a great big textbook and just reading, undisturbed. 

“Don't let the homeless look distract you. He's been in detentions more times then Sebastian Moran. And that's saying something.” 

Sherlock looked over to Greg who was now working on his pudding, “Who's Sebastian Moran?” 

Greg pointed to Jim’s table, “Big n’ tall blonde bloke sitting right beside old Jim. Nasty piece of work he is. He's the one that collects all the monies and pounds you to the ground if you don't pay up. Jim calls him his ‘body guard’ or somethin'.”

“Why don't they collect from him?”

“Hm?”

Sherlock turned back to John Watson who was still ignoring the bustling world around him, “Why don't they go after Watson?”

“Oh that's easy,” Greg chucked and Sherlock raised a brow, “Jim's intimidated by him.”

Sherlock's eyes narrowed, trying to collect as much data as he could about John Watson. So Moriarty was intimidated…by someone who looked so…..ordinary?

Sherlock's thoughts were all tuned out when a body blocked his view and positioned itself in front. “Hello ‘Lockie, got something for me?” 

Sherlock sat back in his chair and crossed his arms. This little tick called Jim was already staring to get on his nerves, “Im not giving you a single pound Jim...or should I call you James?” 

Jim's eyes narrowed at the name but it only encouraged Sherlock to continue, “Only child, parents practically ignore you and they just bought a new house companion to keep you out of their hair. Dog. Cocker spaniel ? No… English Bulldog.”

As Sherlock rambled on his deductions the whole cafeteria quieted down and all attention was at their small table in the back. Instead of cursing and scowling, like others in his private school usually did, Jim simply grinned; eyes getting even darker and reptile-like. It made the hairs on the back of Sherlock's neck spike up, but he remained as calm as possible. Before he could react, his lunch was shoved off the table and the food scattered itself across the floor. Sherlock looked up from the mess to see Sebastian smiling widely at his accomplishment. 

“Well, that's one way to get rid of that,” Sherlock drawled, clasping his hands in front, “ I wasn't bothering with it anyway, so thanks for the clean up.”

Jim wasn't happy with the sarcastic response and just growled at the comment. The room grew uncomfortably quiet all except for the sound of a plastic chair being scraped across the floor. Sherlock followed the movement with his eyes and watched as John Watson stood from his seat without a care, closed the large textbook before putting it under his arm, and strode right out of the cafeteria. 

There was a time for a quick breath before Moran walked up to Greg and slammed his fist down on the table. “Don't think we’ve forgotten about you, little bitch.” 

Greg narrowed his eyes but dug into his trouser pocket, relieving himself of a £5 note and dropping it onto the table, “Its Greg” he muttered, going red when realizing his own peak in confidence. 

“Thanks, _little bitch_ ” Moran laughed and ruffled the greying hairs after spitting in his hand. Jim just chuckled at the event and turned on his heel toward the doors, “I won't forget this, Holmes” he called back over his shoulder, “I owe you a fall.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is almost fully written so i will post a new chapter a week, I dont know how many chapters in total I will have. 
> 
> Comments and Kudos as always appreciated <3 
> 
> (For those who are awaiting a new instalment of 'The Candlelight Prince' do not worry, its still in the works and I plan to update once my writers block and lack of motivation cease.)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock gets an idea and cue in John Watson.
> 
> (I know I said a new chapter next week, but i couldn't resist uploading today XD, hope you enjoy!)

“You know they’re just going to keep doing it.” 

Greg had no patience at the moment, running the tap in the boys bathroom while he tried to soak his hair through to remove all trace of Sebastian Moran. “You don't think I know that?” he replied sharply.

Sherlock just shrugged, arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against the sink beside his acquaintance, “There has to be something we can do to make them stop.” 

“A lot of good that will do, Sherlock. Bloody hell, you tried to reject paying and that tosser went and ruined your lunch, let alone turn his attention to _me_.” 

“For how long?” 

Greg turned to him, hair sticking out all over the place, “Years, far too many.”

Sherlock hummed in response but something caught his eye under one of the stalls. A black shoe. But not just any black shoe…. a scuffed up one. Before he could open his mouth, a flush came from one of the stalls and none other than John Watson himself walked out, completely ignoring the two fools rambling off. He walked straight to an empty sink to wash his hands as the two other silent boys in the loo watched on. 

The deductions just kept flooding Sherlock's mind: abusive father, drunk mother, held back a year. _Interesting…._

Greg made sure to completely ignore the shorter boy beside him and went back to cleaning his hair to the best of his ability. Sherlock couldn't help staring. He must have heard. Of course…John had heard everything.

John Watson must have noticed the attention because after drying off his hands with paper towel he turned to face the taller, dark haired boy, gave him a blank look and just walked away, not even bothering to pay either of them any mind. 

When the loo door swung close, Sherlock grabbed Greg by the shoulders, a flicker of something in his eyes as he came up with the most brilliant idea ever. 

“I have a plan.”

~

Weeks went by with lunches that dragged on and on each time he sat down at his table. Like clockwork, Jim Moriarty and his gang of thugs would corner him, either spitting in his juice or throwing his food half across the room. They threatened for his cash but Sherlock stood to his word, refusing each and every time. On multiple occasions he would end up locked inside a locker or pushed against the bathroom wall to be decked in the stomach and keel over on the dirty ground. Enough was enough and he was losing his patience. 

One evening, when he rode home on his bike with the now almost flat back tyre, thanks to Irene Adler’s sharpened bobby pin, the one thing on his mind was how to get John Watson on his side. 

Dropping off the bike in the main hallway and running up the steps to his room, caught the attention of his older brother who was currently held up in the kitchen. “Sherlock?” He called out, but was ignored completely.

Reaching for his phone, Sherlock had begun texting Graham different ideas as to how to start acquiring Mr. Watson for their little plan.

 

**Lestrade: I still think this is a bad idea**

**Sherlock: Nonsense. It's the only chance we have for Jim and his lot to leave all of us alone. SH**

**Lestrade: Rlly? Tht bloke terrifies me and evryone else.**

 

Sherlock rolled his eyes at the misspelling and short form of today's society. Could people really be this lazy than to add the proper letters of a word?

 

**Sherlock: Which is why it's the best plan. SH**

**Lestrade: Whatevr u say c u 2mrw**

 

Sherlock threw his phone on his bed and started on his homework before putting any plan into action. A knock at his door failed to startle him and he just hummed as way of enter. 

Mycroft poked his head in and casually looked around the room, eyes finally falling on his little brother. Sherlock had hoped he wouldn't notice the small forming of a purple bruise just below his left eye - or the way his white dress shirt was rolled down on the cuffs to cover the hand print on his wrist. Of course he couldn't trick his brother. This was Mycroft Holmes - the man with the same talent of deduction; his teacher as a matter of fact. 

“I can see school is treating you well,” the older Holmes lightly commented, stepping further into the room and casually leaned against a wooden dresser. 

Sherlock hummed in response, shuffling through his maths textbook and pulling out a blank sheet of paper. 

“Shall I just deduce what’s happening, or are you going to tell me?” 

Sherlock huffed in annoyance, clearly not in the mood to agree to Mycroft’s wishes, as he rather get his work done to start planning how to get John. “If you wouldn't mind, brother, I have work to do.” 

Mycroft snorted with little amusement and walked over to the bed, flipping the text book closed, “I won't ask again.” 

This was more than what he needed right now. Sebastian Wilkes had nearly drowned him during physical activity in the school pool, and as of a couple hours ago, his bike tyre was officially done for, thanks to Irene.  Now he had his annoying older brother to deal with, playing the role of father since his own was too busy focusing on his career than to focus on his growing children who had lost their mother 2 years prior. 

Sherlock set his pencil down and narrowed his eyes at the blank page, “Go on.”

Mycroft took the opportunity to sit on the empty spot beside his brother and let his eyes wander some more, “For how long, Sherlock?” 

“Weeks.” 

Mycroft raised his hand to examine the bruise further but faltered, knowing that his brother would slap it away. He resorted to letting it fall back in his lap. “Do you need me to get involved? I can report it to the headmaster.” 

“Don't,” Sherlock spat and turned to his brother, “I've got it under control.”

“I can see that.” Mycroft sighed as he got up from his seat and walked to the door, “I worry about you, you know. Constantly.”

“People do little else.” Sherlock snapped back.  

~

The next day at school, Sherlock was ready to put his full plan into action. He hadn't told Gavin (or was it Gerald?) yet, but he would eventually. In Mrs. Hudson's music class, Sherlock couldn't help but stare at the short sandy blond boy who was currently playing the clarinet as he blocked the rest of the world out. This being their only class together, Sherlock wondered if John bothered about any of his other classes. For music, he would show up on time, looking and dressed completely like any other day, and remain by himself - closed off to everyone except when Mrs. Hudson would approach. She would end up leaving compliments for his playing or encouraging him to continue with his practice. 

Sherlock had to admit, John had talent. There were times when class was dismissed where Sherlock would take a minute to pause in the hallway to hear him play. 

When Mrs. Hudson finished up her notes and reminded the class of their assigned tasks for the night, Sherlock had made sure to stay behind - taking longer to pack up his violin while the other students flushed out the room and only him and John Watson remained. 

Sherlock couldn't help but spot the large textbook the boy carried around everywhere, now that it was exposed on the lid of the grand piano. Medical textbook. Interesting, he wants to study medicine. Medicine = Doctor. 

The silence in the classroom was drawn out until John zipped up his tattered book-bag and slung it over his shoulder while proceeding to the door. Sherlock wasted no time, stepping in front of the shorter boy and using the hands on his hips to gain a wider advantage. John looked none too pleased and frowned up at him, attempting to maneuver around before he was blocked again by the arrogant curly haired kid. “Get out of my way. Unless you want more bruises to go along with the ones you're already wearing...” he warned, fists already balled at his sides.

But Sherlock was undeterred, keeping himself rooted on the spot. This boy didn't even look that intimidating. So why was everyone scared of him? “I would like to make a deal with you, Watson” he said, earning a questioning glance before being roughly shoved out of the way. 

“I don't make deals.” 

Sherlock rubbed at his side from the impact, but stood up straight once again just as John reached for the door handle, “I'll pay!” he shouted. John froze in his spot, head bent and hand resting on the handle. The room stayed silent for a few seconds but ended after John made his way through the door, letting it shut behind him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok! All seriousness this time - new chapter next week! 
> 
> Comments and Kudos are always appreciated <3


	3. Chapter 3

“Why'd you stay after class?” Greg asked, attempting to open a bag of crisps without causing them to fall all over the grass.

Sherlock remained silent, feeling a little defeated at the events that transpired after class. Why had John refused an offer after money had been involved? Clearly, the boy needed it since he kept showing up with ripped clothing and looked as if he hadn't showered in weeks. There was something about this John Watson that Sherlock couldn't deduce, and it was eating at his insides not knowing what.

“Sherlock?” Greg tried again, nudging his friend in the shoulder before popping a crisp in his mouth.

“He wouldn't take it.”

“Who?”

“John.”

“Take what?”

Sherlock’s patience was wearing thin on the stupid question. Don't people pay attention? More importantly, would anyone actually listen to him for once?

“The money, Lestrade! He wouldn't take the deal!”

“Well did you tell ‘em what the deal even was?”

Sherlock shook his head, eyes glued to the grass under his shoes. His back was getting sore from leaning against the tree, but he didn't really care. He had to make plans for how to deal with Moriarty and his crew until the year ended.

“Well, your…..” Greg fell short and Sherlock couldn't be bothered to care, instead of taking the time to examine the picture of John Watson stored in his mind palace. “Oh, Christ…” Greg muttered, shuffling beside and causing Sherlock to look up and roll his eyes, “What is it now, Lestra…de….”

Shadows of several figures cast over them and Sherlock took a deep breath and held it in while Jim Moriarty took center stage. “If it isn't pretty boy ‘Lockie and his little puppy. Have our money?”

Greg had already started to reach into his trouser pocket when a hand on his elbow stilled him and he looked to Sherlock with wide eyes.

“Don't” The taller boy ordered, keeping direct eye contact with the ringleader.

Moriarty just shook his head with a grim smile. Sherlock noted that the muscle, Moran, was absent from the group and sighed with relief. He would hold his ground this time just like all the others.

Irene went to grab for something in her bag but paused midway when she caught the shadow of another figure and paled instantly. Wilkes nervously tapped Moriarty’s shoulder and the snake-like boy turned with a huff, “What is it now Wilkes?!” He yelled before freezing at the figure who stood before him.

John Watson, clad in all of his dingy glory, stood behind all three of Sherlock's soon-to-be attackers with his hands folded over his chest, his head cocked to the side, and a prominent frown on his face.

Without even bothering to turn back to their prey, Jim chuckled and grabbed his two accomplices by the arms, pulling them away, “It's your lucky break again, Holmes. Next time won't be so easy.”

With the pests gone, and John just looking after them, Sherlock was able to take him all in.

_This is it_ , he thought.

Standing up and brushing his trousers free of dirt, Sherlock marched over and stuck his hand out in an offering. John just glanced at it and turned around, not even bothering to pay any mind.

“John!” Sherlock called but was completely toned out when the boy kept walking, casually setting his hands in his pockets.

“Well,” voiced Greg from behind, “That was successful.”

Sherlock was too astounded to care what George had even said because John Watson had helped them. John Watson was their only chance of playing Moriarty’s game. His own conductor of light.

~

That evening, Sherlock was picked up by his brother and on their way home. His mind was more wound up about the events that went down than he would like to admit. Why did John decide to stand up for them now? Did he finally come to his senses and decide he wanted the money or was it something else entirely…

Sherlock rested his head against the window, watching the street speed right before his eyes. He watched several people, deducing them to pass the time when he spotted a slightly torn up bookbag and a grungy black and yellow rugby jacket.

_John._

“Stop the car!” He yelled.

Mycroft wasted no time stepping on the breaks and forcing the car to come to a screeching halt. “William Sherlock Scott Holmes, what was the meaning of that?!”

Without giving any answer, the feisty teen popped open the car door lock and bolted down the street. He mapped out the area immediately and when John turned down a darkened alleyway, did not even hesitate to follow in the shadows. He was curious about this fellow - more so then any other human being he had come in contact with - and he wanted to know just where he was going and if he could get more data.

The alleyways were narrow, incredibly so that Sherlock tried very hard to maneuver within the shadows. Thanks to his lithe frame, it was manageable but not without pancaking his body against brick walls and crouching behind metal bins.

When Sherlock had reached the street he turned to see that the sandy blonde boy had begun to run. _Damn._ Sherlock wasted no time bolting right after him down the street. The chase went on for a time; following as closely as possible but not too close - making out the dirty black and yellow jacket amongst the crowd. When it did end, however, John was nowhere to be seen and instead a small beaten down flat took up Sherlock's eyesight.

This couldn't be it….could it? John Watson’s house…? But then Sherlock took in the rough look of it, marked out the chipping paint on the front door and the loose hinges on the window doors to realize that this, in fact, was where his doctor-to-be resided.

Sherlock was just about to take a step closer when a blaring horn sounded from behind him. The teen jumped; being so concentrated on the house up front that he didn't even hear a car pull up behind him.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. Bloody Mycroft.

“Sherlock Holmes get in the car this instant!” Mycroft yelled, window fully down and eyes narrowed dangerously in his brother's direction.

Sherlock muttered curses under his breath before turning to stare daggers back at his annoying brother. Sherlock couldn't possibly cause a scene outside of John's house - lest he blows his cover - so it only agitated him more that stupid Mycroft opened his big fat mouth and shouted his name so the whole street could hear.

When the car door was slammed shut, and the window back up to block out the cool wind, Sherlock slumped down in his seat and crossed his arms over his chest with a scowl. “Look what you've done! Blown my cover for sure!”

Mycroft shifted into gear and pulled out onto the road, “Blown your cover?! Sherlock Holmes, you bolted from this car to chase down a boy in torn trousers!

“Minor details, Mycroft. But he got away, and you've blown every inch of anonymity I had.”

Mycroft sighed heavily, turning onto the main road once again and in the direction of their home. “Are you going to bother telling me _why_ you are chasing down this particular human being?”

Sherlock remained silent.

Mycroft took a breath upon realization, “Sherlock….is that the boy that-“

“No.”

“Sherlo-“

“I said _NO_ Mycroft. Now do keep your annoying thoughts to yourself” Sherlock scowled, turning in his seat to rest his head against the car window as he counted the street signs between each intersection in his head.

Upon arriving home, Sherlock didn't even bother calling out to his father in greeting; knowing full well the man was most likely once again glued to the chair in his study. Work came first. It was what both of the brothers were told from the age of four.

_'All that matters to me is the work'_

Pulling out his phone, Sherlock didn't even hesitate to thumb over to Lestrade.

 

**Plan B is a go. SH**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What could Plan B possibly be?
> 
> Comments and Kudos are always appreciated <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which we figure out what Plan B is.

“So you think this is actually gonna work?” Greg whispered.

“Of course it will work, I've planned it all out. Now be quiet and wait for your cue.”

The two boys positioned themselves between large bookshelves in the library during lunch period. They had followed John Watson after music (where Sherlock said he would be) and with a plan in mind, now watched from a distance as the target sat alone with his medical book opened in front. 

As the boy flipped the page, Sherlock tapped Geoff’s shoulder and gently pushed him from their hiding spot, “Remember what I told you to say,” he whispered. 

Greg nodded, and after adjusting his shirt, marched over to the table while collecting an armful of books. “‘Scuse me, mate” he smiled while plopping the books down directly in front of John and ‘accidentally’ spreading them all over the table so that they covered the other boy's book in the process.

John groaned and shot the taller boy a look, “First off, I'm not your ‘ _mate_ ’….secondly,” John got up from his seat, left hand clenching as he tried to dig through the mass of books for his own “You and cheekbones need to stop following me!” John shuffled furiously around the pile until he grabbed a white covered book and all but stormed out. 

Greg just watched the yellow and black rugby coat disappear, mouth agape in shock before turning to the tall bloke that approached with the dark, curly hair and a smug looking grin plastered on his lips. “Did he grab it?” Sherlock asked.

Greg shuffled through the books on the table until he pulled a well kept and large white medical textbook from the bottom of the pile. He held it up with a smile as he noticed his partner-in-crimes grin deepen. 

“The game is afoot.”

~

Sherlock had made sure to take his fixed up bike to school that morning, deciding instead to avoid any further interruptions from his brother. With his book bag secured on his back and the important parcel within, he took no time at all making his way to the familiar house he arrived at just yesterday. He followed the map secured within his mind palace and counted the seconds between each intersection before arriving at the flat which he only assumed could be John Watson's. 

Griff told him to be careful but really…how harmful could John Watson be? Especially after the bloke had stood up for him just the day before. None the less, Sherlock parked his bike on the walkway and unzipped his bag to pull out the medical textbook before walking casually to the front door and knocking. 

…..

……….

There was nothing. No response, no padding footsteps to be heard behind the door. Zilch. 

Sherlock took the time to examine the peeling paint on the doorframe and going over through his mind palace before coming to the full conclusion that this must be John Watson's home. He wasn't wrong. Couldn't be. For a matter of fact he-

“What are you doing here.” It sounded less of a question and more of a statement that came from behind. 

Of course, Sherlock nearly facepalmed upon the realization that he had arrived at the flat before John Watson himself had made it home. 

There was always something. 

Sherlock took a breath, completely forgetting the short boy was still behind him before he heard that very voice clear itself. “I’ll say it again - since your brain is too thick to even register - WHAT are you doing here? Or better yet, how did you find where I lived.” 

Sherlock turned on his heel so that he towered not only his natural stalky height but three steps taller than the boy now in front of him. He didn't even bother with voicing an explanation as he held the text in his hand and presented a cocky grin. 

“Oi! That's my book!” John called out, anger seeping more into his voice. Sherlock noted the tremor in his left hand go off again, watching as John flexed his fingers before reaching into his bag. “I thought I grabbed it….” His voice trailed off when he pulled the white hardcover he thought was his own until turning it around. Instead of his own text, there was an English one in its place. 

“Lestrade said you left it on the desk at the library. Of course, I offered to return it to the rightful owner, that being you.” 

“How did you know where I lived….”

“Easy enough, John. With muddy trainers and a bright yellow jacket such as the one you’re wearing, it isn't that difficult to figure it out.” 

“So you’ve just admitted you've been stalking me” John spat out.

“Oh please, John. I've merely been following you around in order find ways to get you on my side.” 

John stood rooted to his spot, looking up at the taller boy clearly unimpressed, “Stalking.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and sighed dramatically, “I wouldn't call following you home and mapping out your school routine to be considered _stalking_ , John.” 

John snorted but quickly attempted to hide his smile by biting his lip. The action made Sherlock grin. 

“I beg to differ,” John remarked, crossing his arms over his chest before sticking out a hand, “I'll have my book back now, Cheekbones.” 

“Ch-cheekbones?!” Sherlock’s face fell with resentment at the name.

“You heard me” John pressed.

Sherlock didn't even bother to retort but held the book out in front of him. John went to reach for it but he pulled it back, just missing the other boys grasp. “Now, now. I haven't even made my proposition to you.” 

John sighed, head falling forward in agitation. 

Angers easily. Interesting…..

“Give. Me. My. Book. Back.”

“Not until you swear to be my bodyguard for the remainder of the school year.”

“Now why would I bloody do that? I told you I don't make deals!”

“So you can get this,” Sherlock waved the book in his hand, “…and this” with the other, Sherlock dug into his trouser pocket and pulled out some notes. 

John eyed both and groaned in frustration, cursing under his breath, “ _Bloody, fucking sly bastard_ …IF I do this you'll leave me alone?”

“John I-“

“And _stop_  stalking me?!” 

Sherlock shut his mouth and nodded tersely.

“Fine.” 

 Wait…what….? “Excuse me?”

“I said fine. Now hand me over the money and the book.” John went up three of the steps until he was chest to chest with the boy he thought a leech, eyes staring and narrowed with his hands open, “Hand them over right now or it won't just be Moran you'll have to worry about.” 

Sherlock passed over both the book and money, quickly noting the colour of John Watson's eyes, before being shoved out of the way of the front door. 

There was something about that book, Sherlock thought about it while rubbing his shoulder, “I'll see you in class tomorrow, John” he called off, skipping down the three steps and over to his bike. He didn't even get a response other than the front door slamming shut and a grin appeared on his lips. 

Bingo.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and Kudos are always appreciated <3


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock has a small victory and drama ensues.

Sherlock biked home feeling lighter than ever now that his plan was successful. The first thing he would do would be to let a Lestrade know how it went. Pulling up to his posh looking home, Sherlock discarded his bike on the front lawn and ran to the front door, pulling it open with a large grin until it fell from the figure who now stood before him. 

In the front hall with arms crossed over his chest stood his father, Siger Holmes himself. He wore a frown that looked none too pleased and remained silent until his younger son shut the door behind him. 

“Mycroft mentioned you've been in some trouble at school?” Siger asked, voice lacking any emotion or concern.

“I've got it under control, sir,” Sherlock muttered, lowering his head as to avoid any looks his father bothered to pass his way. 

“You better, boy,” Siger sighed, grabbing his briefcase off the steps and walking past Sherlock, “Already had enough problems at the last school, can't afford to have the same at this one. I have a meeting late tonight, don't wait up. Your brother will be home soon.” 

And with that, his father retreated out the door and to his car without another word, Sherlock remained in his spot in the front hall, head still bowed and book bag still snugly on his back. With a shake of his head, and a ruffle through his hair, Sherlock bounded up the steps to his room, erasing the awkward and painful confrontation with his father. Like he cared anyway. The only reason Sigur had brought it up was that of Mycroft still believing that their father cared about them at all. It was all lies of course; Sherlock could read his dad like a book. 

Once secured in his little sanctuary, Sherlock wasted no time pulling out his phone and texting up Lestrade.

 

**I've got him. SH**

 

The reply took less than five minutes, and Sherlock beamed once his phone lit up.

 

**I dunno how u did it m8 but good on u!**

**See you tomorrow at school. SH**

**Cya then m8!**

 

The remainder of the evening consisted of Sherlock listening to Bach while working on his chemistry homework happily. He didn't even hear the front door open and his brother call his name before being confronted with a tray holding a cup of water and plate of ginger nuts. 

Mycroft tugged the earbud from his brother's ear which earned a huff of protest from the mess of curls. “I thought you would like a snack before dinner. I was tempted to bring up crisps instead” he joked but was surely lost on his little brother.

Sherlock scoffed snatching a ginger nut and took a bite, grabbing the earbud and placing it in his ear to ignore his brother once again. 

Mycroft sighed but let Sherlock be, closing the door behind him with a soft click. Sherlock heard the retreating footsteps down the stairs before tapping the play button on his mobile for Bach to continue. 

Around dinner, Sherlock could start to smell the Indian take out that was resting in the oven downstairs. Mycroft must've picked it up on the way home knowing full well of his father's absence. Lifting his nose higher, he could catch a whiff of chicken curry; his favourite. Mycroft was definitely playing kiss ass.

Sherlock closed his chemistry book and packed up all of tomorrow's homework in his book-bag before sliding off the bed and casually proceeding to the kitchen. Upon entering, he spotted Mycroft patiently waiting at the table with the meal already dished out at their respectable place setting. How pedestrian. 

Sherlock padded over to his chair and plopped down, digging into the curry without a word while ignoring the intent stare from his brother. He mentally pleaded that Mycroft keep his big nose out of his personal issues but was instead rewarded with an intake of breath that made him cringe. 

“So this _John Watson_... I've done some research on him and his family. Seems the Watson's are a rotten egg within the bunch.” Sherlock gripped his fork tighter in his hand. Mycroft continued, “I can have him expelled from Sherinford for the bruises he's given you. You may be able to tolerate the physical as of right now, but the psychological pain he must be causing is inexcusable, Sherlock. I will not tolerate it.”

Sherlock counted to ten in his head before taking a breath and grabbing for his cup of water. “I told you to leave my affairs alone, Mycroft.” 

“John Watson-!”

“ _John Watson_ is not a brute!” Sherlock had just about lost his patience, voice rising as a result. His family never bothered to care when good things happened to him - now only giving two shits that he's having issues at school. "Instead of bothering with keeping me in check, why don't you waste your breath by asking our _father_ to spend at least one minute in our presence! Maker knows that he'd rather us be gone instead of mummy - he can't even look us in the eyes!"

"Sherl-"

Sherlock didn't even register the hurt look on Mycroft's face, nor let his brother finish speaking before getting up swiftly from his chair and snatching up his plate. He bolted up the stairs and ran to his room, slamming the door behind him.

Mycroft didn't understand. Of course he didn't. John Watson wasn't his attacker, he was his _saviour_. And Sherlock would prove it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thank each and every one of you for taking the time to read this fic and also to those who have left a kudos and/or comment. Your encouragement and input is brilliant and much appreciated!
> 
> THANK YOU!!


	6. Chapter 6

Walking into 213a was a difficult task, especially since Sherlock's stomach couldn't help but flutter every time his eyes trailed back to clock on the wall. He didn't even realize that Miss Morstan had walked in until last weeks tests were handed out. 

Sherlock rolled his eyes, fingers tapping idly on his desk and looked at his mark, 99%. He grimaced at the one wrong answer circled in red ink. Inexcusable. 

The round of papers were just finished being handed out when Jim Moriarty and company strode through the classroom door. 

The gang of miscreants took their seats after collecting their papers on the front desk and Irene made the long trek around the classroom, chewing loudly on her gum. Miss had her back turned at the most inopportune time that she completely missed the sly looking girl remove the gum from her lips and plaster it right on the back of Sherlock's curls. 

“Oops!” she giggled, trotting over to her desk to finally join the rest of her squad. Sherlock sat in his seat brimming with anger. His fists remained clenched through the whole class and throughout the morning as he was unable to vent to Lestrade who had messaged him earlier; saying he was staying home for the day because of illness.

When music rolled in, it was barely tolerable.

Both John and Lestrade were missing from class and trying to stay absorbed in his violin and mind palace seemed to be difficult knowing that the bloody piece of pink gum was still plastered in his hair. Sherlock all but droned Mrs. Hudson out while she blabbered on about one thing or another and soon after the class was dismissed, the lunch break began. 

Upon entering the lunchroom, Sherlock did a quick scan of his surroundings before thinking better than to line up for the queue when he wasn't even hungry. Lestrade wasn't even here anyway, there was no point in attempting or even pretending to eat. 

He sauntered to the back of the room, locating an empty table and taking a seat on one of the plastic chairs. Sherlock closed his eyes and steepled his hands under his chin resorting to his mind palace until it was broken by the sharp sound of the chair across from him being pulled out. Sherlock's eyes snapped open and were met with a pair of black ones. 

Jim.

“I see our ‘Lockie’s alone today. Did your pet dog abandon you once realizing how sad of a human being you are? Oh sorry, wrong choice of words,” Jim smirked, eyes catching the light and making them look even more reptile-like, “ _Machine_.”

Sherlock froze. 

That word haunted him in his sleep and brought up memories from his past that he never wanted to look back to. The one word that he thought for sure he would be rid of once arriving in London. 

But he was so wrong.  

Sherlock's hands shook from the pain that started in his chest and the feeling of his stomach twisting in knots. He tried to keep his steely demeanor but he must have faltered long enough for the boy across from him catch it and only aided in his smile deepening. 

“How did you…-“

The next bit was unexpected.

Instead of searching his mind palace for a snide remark to dish out and build up his walls once more, there was a clearing of a throat from his left side. And not just any throat clearing…

“Looks like you’re in my seat, Jim.” 

John. 

Moriarty’s smile faltered as his eyes went directly to the source. Sherlock couldn't help but grin. 

“Hello, Johnny! Don't mind me, just thought I'd give Sherlock some company while he sat alone.” Almost instantly could Sherlock see the bead of sweat that started to form on the black haired boy's brow. Sherlock couldn't help but turn his smug looking grin to his saviour and finally take a good, long and adoring look. 

John stood beside him; rugby jacket still on his shoulders and bookbag hanging from off his back. The medical textbook he always carried was held in one arm while the frown on his face deepened as he started at Moriarty. The one thing though, that Sherlock couldn't help but notice, was that John Watson's hair was actually styled. There was indeed product in it today and the amount of care was noticeable right away. 

“Doesn't look like he wants it,” John commented, placing a hand in his pant pocket.

Moriarty faked a laugh but stood up none the less, brushing a hand down his uniformed shirt. “Can't stop from trying, am I right, Johnny boy?”

John bristled beside him and Sherlock couldn't help but stare adoringly at him. 

“Don't call me that again.” 

“R-right. Well, goodbye boys!” He called over his shoulder while walking away from the table, “and don't forget my money ‘Lockie! I hate to pry!”

Once the short boy was at a safe distance, Sherlock let out a breath of relief. He had gotten through another day.

John decided then to take the seat across from him and set the textbook down before walking over and standing at the cue. 

Before long, John walked back with two trays of food and placed one in front of Sherlock without a word. 

“What's this for?” 

John sat down in the opposite chair and dove into his frankfurters and beans while Sherlock stared blankly at his baked potato and corn on the cob.

“Are you gonna eat?” John asked, not even looking up from his food. 

Sherlock looked up at him then back down at the tray, he wasn't hungry at all In fact, but the thought of John standing in the queue to get him lunch made him pick at his potato. 

“You've got some gum in your hair too,” John commented, finally looking up at him with a more relaxed face. “Did Jim do that to you?”

Sherlock shook his head, “Irene.” 

John frowned again and then went back to his food. “I must admit - you got bullocks, Cheekbones. Standing up as long as you have to Jim and his lot.” 

Sherlock got cocky, stretching in his seat further so he sat taller in his chair. “Now that I have you in my circle. Looks like lucks on my side.” 

He could have sworn he saw a grin form on John's lips before the boy went back to his food. 

“Could be. Finish up and let's get that gum out your hair before they come up with more ideas, yea?” John asked, gesturing to the barely touched meal in front of the other boy.

Sherlock couldn't help but smile this time, “Yeah.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and Kudos are always appreciated <3
> 
> Edit: I made an error in John calling Sherlock 'Holmes', it's fixed now!


	7. Chapter 7

Sherlock surprisingly finished his lunch that day. It was amazing how John's presence for the mere half-an-hour that they sat in companionable silence, led to him having some form of appetite at all. Was it the fact that John took time to retrieve his lunch or the fact that John's presence alone made him feel secure?

It was those thoughts that followed him into the loo where the other boy sat him down on a bench and started shuffling through his bag.

“And what, pray tell would you keep in your rucksack for my hair?”

John stopped rummaging and shot him an amused look, “What is this the bloody 18th century? ' _Pray tell'_  ?" he snickered 

Sherlock just rolled his eyes and crossed his arms.

“A-ha! Here they are!” 

John’s excitement caught Sherlock off guard, and when his eyes traveled to the pair of shears that now lay in between John's fingers, he bolted up from his seat. “No way are you getting anywhere near me with those!”

John let out a sarcastic sigh, “Calm down, Cheekbones. How the hell else ya gonna get that shite out?” 

“Let me think!” Sherlock retorted, steepling his fingers under his chin and closing his eyes, “And don't even think about moving an inch” he growled. 

Sherlock missed the wide-eyed look that John had given him and the quick shake of his head that must have been an attempt to clear his head from any thought that got caught up there. Instead, the room was in silence for a time before the blonde couldn't keep his mouth shut any longer. 

“What the bloody hell are you doing?” 

“I'm searching my mind palace.” 

“Your what?”

Sherlock's eyes snapped open irritably, “My  _mind palace_. Do keep up John.” 

Sherlock, this time, didn't miss the annoyed look that flashed over the other boys face before closing them again.

“Alright, times up. I've already wasted enough of my time with you.” John inched forward and casually toyed with the scissors until he dove in and trimmed the small chunk of hair that held the pink gum.  

Sherlock's eyes snapped open and his hand went to the back of his head immediately, “What did you do….”

John shook his head, placing the shears back in his bag and holding up the dark hair with the pink, sticky prize stuck on it, right in front of the other boys face. “Problem solved.” 

Sherlock was stunned and speechless, standing still with his mouth agape in shock. 

“Don't worry about what it looks like in the back,” John continued nonchalantly, ignoring the frozen look that seemed painted on Sherlock's face, “You've got too much hair back there for anyone to notice this bit gone.”

“Y-you cut my hair…”

John snorted but his face stayed the same - emotionless. “Yea. I did. Now, I think I get my thanks” John held out his hand.

Sherlock just looked at it while his brain kicked back into gear, “You think I'm paying you today's wages after pulling a stunt like that?!” 

John's face contorted again. This time, he didn't look happy. “I covered your arse already today, stood in the queue for your damn lunch, AND took care of the little incident Irene left ya with! So yes, I want my share!”

Sherlock's eyes narrowed and he folded his arms over his chest. His voice was cold when he spoke, “I rarely eat, so you wasted your time bringing me anything. Jim was by himself today upon approaching me. I didn't need you to step in. And lastly, you should’ve thought of all that before you ended up taking those things to my head! I told you there must be another way!”

The laugh that John made was humourless and hollow. It reverberated off the toilet walls leaving the room deadly silent afterward. 

John zipped up his bookbag and shook his head in disbelief. He hoisted it on his shoulders and forcefully grabbed the lapels of Sherlock's uniform shirt, “It's just my luck that I ended up trusting a snob like _you_ ,” he spat “All my life I've dealt with you're kinda people and look where it got me!” John shoved Sherlock back into the wall and marched to the loo doors. “I want double tomorrow, Cheekbones. _Or else_.” 

The door slammed behind him and Sherlock remained plastered to the wall; anger still brimming inside him. 

There was one word Sherlock had missed while the day went on and upon returning home that day. _Double_. John had never said he quit. 

-

 

**Sherlock:** He was a bad idea! I regret even starting this whole campaign! SH

**Lestrade:** wat happened????

**Sherlock** : He CUT my HAIR! SH

**Lestrade:** aight I think I missed sumthin today. Do we hve any hmwrk??

**Sherlock:** Irene put gum in my hair and John Watson cut it out! SH

**Lestrade:** and…?

**Sherlock** : … SH

**Lestrade:** o cmon u bloody sign urself after putting dots?? Rlly??

**Sherlock:** Shut up. SH

 

Greg's phone rang not even five seconds after receiving Sherlock's most recent text. He answered it with a sigh before putting it up to his ear, “Go on then.” 

Sherlock had relayed the incident that happened and all the way up until the end of school. Several instances Greg had removed the phone from his ear and rolled his eyes at the blabber before answering with ‘mhm’ or ‘oh’ respectably. 

“He ended up walking off and quitting, and now he expects double tomorrow!” 

“Well yeah, Sherlock. It seems reasonable since you didn't pay him for today. And let me remind you that this whole thing about recruiting him as your security-"

“Bodyguard.”

“Yeah, that. Having him as a ‘bodyguard’, was your idea! Plus after all that he did for ya, you kinda freaked out a little.”

"I didn't _freak_ out."

"Just a bit."

"Lestrade..."

"Fine. Fine."

“So you’re suggesting I apologise to him.”

“Well yeah…you don't think so?” 

“Goodbye, Lestrade.”

“Is that a yes then?” 

Silence.

“Wait! What homework did we-“ before he could finish, a click and dial tone filled the line. “Wanker.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh oh, Sherlock...
> 
> Comments and Kudos are always appreciated <3


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for a bit of a late upload; currently in the process of getting a cat and having college work on top of that! But alas, here's another chapter! Enjoy!

Sherlock had barely gotten any sleep the previous night, thinking of ways in which to ‘aplogise’ - as Lestrade has put it - to John Watson about his erratic behavior. Sherlock had still believed he was in the right; that John had no form of consent to snip even a single hair off of his head. But upon meticulously checking himself in the mirror that morning, found that the other boy's observation was correct. It wasn't even noticeable. 

Lestrade was in class that morning, boxed orange juice on his desk and thing of cough drops beside it. “Mum said I'm not contagious” the boy attempted a smile as the taller one took the seat beside him without a word. 

“I assume you’re feeling adequate?”

Greg just eyed him with a frown, “That means alright, yeah?”

“Yes, Lestrade” Sherlock said, rolling his eyes as he pulled the english books from his bag. 

“So...ya hung up on me last night and I had to ask Molly what we missed. Thanks very much for that, by the way.”

Sherlock shrugged while opening his book, mind preoccupied, “Welcome.”

Greg groaned and let his head hit the desk, “Yup.” 

When music class rolled around, Sherlock had his eyes glued to the door just waiting for a certain ex-rugby captain to walk through. It wasn't even ten minutes past the bell when a deep blue-eyed and sandy blonde head walked through the door and went straight to his seat in the back corner, clarinet case in hand. 

John was trying to be coy, Sherlock noticed, his eyes remained in front of him and glued to his seat while the same steely glare remained on his face. He must've felt Sherlock's eyes bore into his very soul, but didn't even bother a glance his way. 

This made Sherlock a tad annoyed. Just a tad.

He slid up next to Lestrade and mumbled his complaint.“You know he's the one that's at fault here and look at him - doesn't even register I'm here.” 

“Shocking, isn't it? Learning the world doesn't revolve around you."

Sherlock turned his narrowed gaze to Greg, who in turn tried to hide a snicker behind a hand. “It's quite funny actually, seeing you pine over him. Craving his attention.”

“I don't pine, nor do I crave anything of John Watson.” 

Greg couldn't help but snort. The amusement was short-lived, however, when Mrs. Hudson ended up giving him a warning look. The class then proceeded as normal, when their teacher began with the usual, "a-one-two-three."

John was off. 

Sherlock took notice right away the tension in his shoulders and the attempt of trying to focus on the sheet music in front to no avail. Sherlock himself was so concentrated on John that when he heard Mrs. Hudson call his name for the third time - according to Greg it was three times, Sherlock insisted he only heard the one - he realized everyone stopped playing except for him. 

He thought for sure that John would look at him now, give him that amused sort of look that would cause his forehead to wrinkle and eyes to slightly crinkle at the sides.  

But nothing. John remained staring up front, unfazed by the event. 

This wouldn't do. 

 

~

 

Lunch came a lot slower than usual. Sherlock and Greg ended up taking the normal table at the back but void of lunch this time 'round. 

“Well I can still get my food, don't need him to be here to get it.” 

Sherlock was still irritated, now more than ever since John wasn't even in the lunchroom at his usual time. “If you need your daily carbs and lazy representation of what they call _food_ , then go get it if it'll shut you up.”

Greg perked up beside him and shot up from his seat, “Want anything?” 

Sherlock just shook his head, resting his arms on the table and his chin in his hands, ready for a good sulk. 

More than anything he wanted John to apologise for what he did, why should he be the one to do it first? But as the anger started to die down in his system, and his brain started to boot up and replay yesterday's events, John did kind of cover him. More than anyone had ever done in regards to standing up for Sherlock Holmes. 

His thoughts were disrupted by a flash of yellow that caught his peripheral and his eyes followed until they landed on a familiar yellow and black rugby jacket. 

John. 

Sherlock stood from his seat, eyes glued to the figure who sat alone with the familiar medical text on the table and marched over without another thought until he stood beside his person of interest. John must've been so absorbed in his reading that he didn't even glance up to see the figure looming over him. However, this also meant he failed to pull down the sleeve of his jacket that revealed the sliver of skin of his right wrist. 

A sliver of purplish and recently bruised skin that barred a mark only a hand could make. 

A sight that caught Sherlock off guard.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and Kudos are always appreciated <3


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A longer chapter! Weeeee

John pulled his hand back toward his body, scrambling to pull his jacket over the exposed flesh before snapping the textbook shut. “What are you doing, Cheekbones?” John snapped.

Sherlock was a bit lost for words, mouth unable to form anything other than a look that mirrored a fish out of water. It couldn't have been more obvious, the mark on his wrist, the small blood stain close to the collar of his jacket - and Sherlock had missed it. Was too absorbed in his own head to even notice that John’s father beat him. 

The height didn't even bother John in the second that it took to grab the taller boys uniformed collar and pull him in so that their faces were mere inches apart. 

“You didn't see a thing” John growled, “Got it, Cheekbones?” 

“John I-“ 

The grip tightened, John's breath was hot across Sherlock's face, causing him to be aware of the proximity. Sherlock could almost count the light patches of blue amongst the darkness in John's eyes - even hints of yellow that were sprinkled around the iris’. The moment was short-lived, however, when John shoved him back and held out an open palm, “Yesterday's and today's payment. Now.”

Sherlock took a second to get his thoughts in order but dug into his pockets to pull out the cash, dropping it in his palm. John looked at it then back at Sherlock, his brows furrowing. “I want today's as well.” 

“The days not over” Sherlock replied, crossing his arms over his chest. 

John shook his head but bound past him all the same, “I want it by the end of the day” the boy grumbled. 

Sherlock watched his retreating frame leave the lunchroom and then turned his head to be greeted by Lestrade, eyes bugged out and mouth agape.

“You stood up to John Watson…” 

Sherlock frowned.

“I've not seen a soul other than Moran stand up to him.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and began to leave the lunchroom, following John's trail. 

“Where you goin?” Greg called.

“Apologizing!” Sherlock yelled back before opening the doors and heading to where he for sure knew John’s sanctuary was. The library. 

-

Sherlock walked the halls with purpose, too much purpose in fact that when turning the corner in the direction of the library he smacked right into Sebastian Wilkes. 

“Hey Holmes” the boy smiled crookedly. 

Great.

“Ah, what a turn of events, Sebastian.” 

Wilkes didn't like the comment, smile faltering slightly before turning his head to nod at someone and physically blocking the other boys' path, “Where ya headed?” 

Sherlock tried to maneuver past but was blocked immediately by a hip against the wall, “Away from you. But so far I'm having some difficulty.” 

Wilkes laughed, a sound that was obnoxious in itself, “Aw really? Sorry bout’ that.” 

“Now Sebastian, we both know your apologies aren't sincere.”

Wilkes snorted when the sound of multiple footsteps echoed behind him in the halls, “You're right when you're right, that's for sure. Jim was right about you.”

Sherlock flashed a sarcastic grin before looking past the other boy's head to spot Moran, Jim and Irene approaching. “Looks like you brought the whole committee” he drawled.

“Surprise” Jim was the first to talk in the group, walking up to them and putting a hand on Wilkes’s shoulder so he backed out of the way. “We both know that this has been going on too long ‘Lockie, I want my money and I want it now.” 

Sherlock let out a dramatic sigh, “And I told you, James. Not. Going. To happen.” 

Jim's eyes flared and his jaw clenched. Sherlock could guess that he reached the end of the line with them, now that John wasn't bothering to protect him anymore. He felt the hit to the face before even seeing it, then the knee to the ribs. Sherlock's vision blacked out for a bit before realizing that he was being dragged by his shoulders down the empty hallway. 

Sherlock had always dreaded this particular hallway on the way to the library. Barely any teachers passed through it so almost any and every bully could get away with one thing or another. 

He felt the cool metal on his cheek before being slammed against it. 

Locker. 

Sherlock heard Irene laugh behind him and Wilkes snicker beside her. He heard Moriarty count each and every locker number as they passed and felt the grip of Moran tighten. The next time his brother would see him, Mycroft would for sure be calling the school to have each and every one of them expelled.  

It never did anything, just got Sherlock talked about and picked on even more. They used to call him the snitch. He thought for sure Sherrinford would be a clean slate. Guess not. 

He definitely lost track in his mind palace because he noticed that they stopped for a second. Or was it a minute? Details. 

A voice he wasn't expecting, but at the same time needed to hear, was none other than John Watson. The boy who barely had to say a word and just give a look; here to save him again. 

“Didn't know you went back to the locker thing, James. Pretty low for a guy like you, don't ya think? You of all people would think it's dull, pedestrian, _boring_.” 

Sherlock's heartbeat picked up. He heard Jim's breath falter before a humourless chuckle left his mouth. “Sometimes one needs to result to older tactics. Thought ‘Lockie here would appreciate the sentiment.” 

“I don't know about that, _James_. Seems to me like he can't even see anything with his eyes all shut up from your brute there.” Sherlock could just picture the head nod to Moran. John was quite readable.

“He had it coming for ‘em” Moran piped in, voice growly and barely used. 

“Oh did he now?” John drawled “Was that before or after he stepped foot in the school?”

“Both.” Moran again. 

“Alright, games over. Let him go.” John's voice was dark. Very dark. Sherlock had never heard such a commanding tone from the other boy before. It was exhilarating. 

“What ya gonna do Watson?” Moran growled.

“Moran” Jim piped up.

Sherlock heard shuffles, felt the grip on his shoulder release and took a sigh of relief before his legs gave out and ended up collapsing to the floor. He tried his best to open his eyes which were now all bruised and swollen to catch a glance of the retreating forms. Jim had grabbed Moran and was pulling him by the arm while Moran walked backward, eyes still locked on John.

Sherlock turned his head to his saviour this time to see John had rolled up his rugby sleeves so that they rested in the crook of his arm. He also noticed his wrist was wrapped in a bandage to cover the marks spotted earlier. 

There was a beat where both boys just stared at each other till John moved first, getting on his knees to bend over Sherlock and examine the work done to his face. Sherlock's breath caught in his throat at the feeling of gentle and light fingertips touching his cheek. “Not my best moment” he tried for a joke, voice rough. 

“I wouldn't say so either, Cheekbones” John replied, a light tone now etched in his voice, “Let's get you up and to the nurse's office then, yeah?” 

“No!” Sherlock grabbed the other boy's wrist, “No nurse.” 

“Then how the bloody hell you gonna explain what happened to your face? Christ, Cheekbones, you should get yourself checked to see if they did any damage.” 

“They did do damage.” 

“Tosser” John laughed, “C’mon, I'm taking you out of the hallway so I can take a better look at’cha at least.”

“Fine. _Doctor_ Watson.” 

John laughed again and Sherlock felt his chest warm from the sound. What he would do to hear that noise again.

“Whatcha say about skipping some classes?” John asked, maneuvering Sherlock gently so that he took all the weight off him and carefully walked to the back school doors. 

“Lead the way” Sherlock grinned. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These boys.... :)
> 
> Comments and Kudos are always appreciated <3


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for this late chapter! Life's kinda all over the place and I'm almost done school soooo there's a ton of homework to finish up >.<

The two of them walked out the back doors, John still supporting Sherlock around the waist while the boy's arm slung over his shoulder. The whole time they walked down the street and to an unfamiliar pathway, Sherlock's couldn't help but tense with the thought of John Watson's hand on his waist. 

“What you did back there…that was…good” he mumbled, face reddening slightly.

“I'm assuming that's a thank you then” John chuckled, leading them further onward until Sherlock could recognize which street they were actually on.

“You're taking me to your flat” Sherlock stated matter of factly, sneaking a glance in his prereferral to see John open his mouth then close it.

“It's a bit scary when you do that.”

“Do what?” 

“Examine things - figure things out the way you do.” John gestured to him with his chin. 

Sherlock smirked, “It's called the science of deduction.” 

“Never heard of it.”

“You were in a rush to head out the door this morning,” John froze and turned to face him, mouth slightly agape, “There's a bit of dried toothpaste on your cheek” Sherlock added, avoiding the stare by turning his head toward the roadway.

“Brilliant!”

That caught Sherlock off guard. It wasn't that brilliant….was it? "Sorry?"

"You heard me" John chuckled beside him and his head snapped to the source of the sound, eyes wide. "Not a compliment you're used to hearing, I'm guessing?” 

Sherlock shook his head, “Not by anyone _normal_.”

John blushed - Sherlock had assumed it was a blush - “I'm special, am I?”

Sherlock's cheeks copied the shade of red that was present on the blonde’s, “I-I mean you're different” he stuttered. 

“I'll take it,” John said, starting to lead once again down the road. The two of them continued toward their destination until they were right in front of John's flat. Sherlock looked up at it with an arched brow, wondering why in all hell John would have taken him there. 

Sherlock for sure thought that they would be going inside, thought he'd finally be able to see the living conditions that piqued his interest. But instead, John veered away from the front door and guided him to the back, pushing through a narrow gate and right to the very small backyard which held a tiny patch of grass and a wooden shed. 

“A shed.” Sherlock's voice lacked any emotion.

“Yea, home away from home if you get what I mean” John chuckled - the sound lacking any joy - it made the taller boy frown. 

Once they had situated themselves inside the cozy but small quarters, Sherlock was able to get a good look around. There was a small area where John had thrown several pillows and sheets into a makeshift bed on the floor. On the other wall, hung a cork board with several sheets tacked on - a red pen circling a few details.

Sherlock tried his best to catch a peak of what the wording said, but was dragged over to the heap of pillows and gently dropped off, view of it completely blocked by John's body rummaging around an old lunchbox. 

He ended up pulling out some alcohol wipes, bandages, and arnica cream, placing them at his side before crouching in front once again, “You have a small cut on your brow, probably from being dragged along those lockers. I'm just gonna clean it up, might sting a bit.”

Just like any doctor would, John talked himself through each action and procedure while tending to Sherlock's injuries. He wrapped his torso up in one of his sheets like a bandage and carefully dabbed the cream on the bruises that riddled his face and chest. The whole endeavor was difficult for Sherlock, fighting off shudders and blushes every time John's eyes roamed his skin with a critical eye. 

“How's your head feeling, Cheekbones?” 

“Just peachy” Sherlock groaned - the start of a headache coming in.

John caught the wince right away and shoved two tablets of paracetamol into his hand before running out to grab some water. 

Once John left, Sherlock jumped up - cringing from the pain that inflamed his chest and abdomen - and carefully maneuvered over to the cork board. The top of the board read PLAN which was littered with several universities and medical school applications - Barts Hospital being the one that caught Sherlock's eye. His eyes traveled around a bit more till the breath caught in his throat. Standing on its own in the corner of the board was a military application. The sheet was circled around twice in red pen with an arrow directly pointed at it. John was considering enlisting. Of course, Sherlock could figure out the reasons as to why John would even consider such an action; education, money and a free ticket away from home. But why. Why would he give away his life so easily? John could…die. 

At that moment John had returned, footsteps freezing at the door with a cup of water in hand. The cup itself had been scrubbed clean twice and rinsed under hot water for as if John was making sure that the dish would be clean enough. The evidence was quite visible on the reddened flesh on John's hands and slight moisture on his sleeve. 

Sherlock was able to see the flare of anger and something almost like betrayal flash across the shorter boys face before he opened his mouth to speak. Nothing came out. In fact, John shut his mouth when the noise of the flat's back door being slammed open cut through the heavy air between them. Heavy and drunk footsteps made their way toward the shed and a grave, unsettled look took over John's face. 

It was something Sherlock could never expect to see on John Watson's face, nor anything he ever wished to see.

Fear.  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just letting you all know there will be a trigger warning for next chapter!
> 
> Comments and Kudos are always appreciated <3


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *TRIGGER WARNING*  
> Abuse and homophobia in this chapter 
> 
> ~
> 
> I'm sorry its such a short chapter this week x.x I've been super duper busy! Hope you enjoy anyway :3

“John ‘amish Wason!” A rumbly and deep voice slurred as it approached their little shelter. 

“He wasn't supposed to be home…..” 

Sherlock looked at John, noticing his face pale and shoot to the lunchbox that was still opened. One thing that John failed to hide while packing up, and the thing that Sherlock didn't fail to see, was a flash of…. gunmetal. Sherlock's eyes widened. 

John didn't even catch the look before he rushed to close it, packing it away and grabbing for Sherlock's arm, pulling until they scrambled outside to be faced with John's father. 

He was a rather short man, grey hair hidden within strands of dark brown. His deep brown eyes were red-rimmed and he reeked of whiskey. 

“See ya brought yourself another boy to shag” his father spat out.

“It's not what it looks like…” John tried but was cut off from a hard hit across the face. 

“Shut up! You like all the rest of them fags. This ones all beat up too. That the way you like ‘em?” John's father turned his gaze to Sherlock, giving him a once over. 

Sherlock’s hands reflexively balled into fists at his side and was about to take a step toward this waste of a man before John had stepped in front of him.

“Leave him out of this” John growled.

It wasn't even a second later that the boy was hit across the face again, this time landing in the dirt below. 

“I told you to shut up boy!” John's father yelled.

Sherlock went to help John up but his hands were pushed aside and a desperate look flashed across John’s eyes which caused him to pause. 

Sherlock couldn't wrap his mind around the whole situation. Why did John take this kind of abuse? Why hadn't he run away?

But then it hit him.

Sentiment. 

John had just finished getting up from the ground - hair sticking up, mud caked onto his pants, shoes, and jacket, and an ugly red welt started to form on his cheek - before Sherlock had reached for his wrist and pulled him away. They ran in no particular direction, just feeling the need to get away. To get John away. 

Which is how they eventually ended up at Sherlock's house. 

Sherlock opened the door and pulled John inside, locking it up and sneaking a glance out the side window. He didn't know if John's father had even bothered to chase them down, but at the same time, he didn't really care. His hand was like a vice on John's wrist and the heaves of their heavy breathing were the only sounds that broke through the front hall. 

“Are you alright?” Sherlock asked, voice soft.

John remained silent beside him and when he went to look at him, the other boy's eyes were plastered to the floor. “John….what happened there was not your fault.” 

“I know it's not,” John hissed, snatching his wrist from the grip and shoved his hands in his pockets instead. Sherlock winced at the loss of contact and leaned against the door, folding his arms over his chest instead, “Thank you” he mumbled. 

“For what?” John asked softly.

“For covering me back there. Again.”

“You covered my arse too, Cheekbones. You got me away.” 

“Guess we’re even then,” Sherlock tried to lighten the mood with a grin.

John snorted in turn and gently bumped into him, “I wouldn't say even, but we sure are looking the same.” 

Sherlock chuckled gripping his abdomen from the pain shortly afterward, “You're not wrong. Welcome to my house, John.” 

“Two homes in one day, moving our relationship a little quick don't ya think?” 

Sherlock blushed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and Kudos are always appreciated <3


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! I was just finishing up school and now that I'm finished I will hopefully have more time for updating!

They had both made it to the kitchen; Sherlock set a kettle on the stove for tea while John eyed the large space. He sat upright in his chair situated at the island, hands crossed in front of him. John had re-bandaged Sherlock up with proper bandages and even dealt with the few cuts that riddled his face and arms with cream from the first aid. 

“I feel like I belong in your rubbish bin” John mumbled, thumbs twirling in discomfort. 

“Don't be ridiculous, John. That's hardly comfortable” Sherlock grinned, ears picking up the huff of laughter from the other boy.

“You're a right twat, y’know that?” 

The kettle whistled and Sherlock set to make two cups of tea. “I think I've heard that one before,” Sherlock said, just catching the sad look John sent his way when he placed the two mugs down in front. 

“Has it always been like this for you?” John asked, eyes now glued to the steaming mug. 

“Name called, beat up and humiliated daily?”

John nodded.

“Yup.” He answered, popping the ‘P’ before he continued, “Wasn't always like this for you, John.” 

John shook his head this time before raising his eyes with an arched brow. “Go on then, how'd you know.” 

Sherlock took a sip of tea and leaned against the island with narrowed and calculating eyes directed at John. “Rugby jacket with Watson on the back, kinda easy to go on, wouldn't you say?”

“Could've been my da’s” John countered.

“Oh please, John, the jackets barely three years old; made to fit and just slightly bigger in the sleeves for when you grow out.” 

John smirked at him and took another sip of tea.   

“No rugby captain is without friends, but since they ended up leaving and you were held back a year, there's no one to dissuade the rumors.” 

“The one where I pushed the kid out of the second-floor window.” 

Sherlock winked at him. “That's the one. But you didn't do it.” 

John set his mug down with a frown, “How'd you know I didn't?”

“C’mon John, even knowing you for this long an idiot would be able to tell you're innocent.” 

“And you're not an idiot,” John mumbled, a fond smile on his lips that caused Sherlock's heartbeat to pick up. Fond. Sherlock shook his head at the idea.

“Precisely. The one thing that makes me wonder, however, is why you haven't tried to clear your name in the first place.”

“I've got a reputation to keep up, Cheekbones. Even a _non_ -idiot like yourself would be able to figure that out.” John winked at him this time and Sherlock couldn't help but shudder at his realization.

Sherlock was smitten, too smitten and it shocked him how much of a crush he had developed just by spending time with John. 

“Once the mates left, I was alone. Didn't know anyone, didn't bother with anyone. And then my father-“ John’s mouth snapped shut and he shook his head until his eyes drifted to the clock. 

Sherlock noticed the save and reached for John's wrist. John froze watching the connection before breaking the grip and jumping off his chair “I uh, should go.” He started backing up toward the front hallway, “M-mums gonna be home and I uh, should help with supper…” 

“John-“

“I-I'll catch you at school tomorrow Cheekbones,” John grabbed his rucksack and walked straight to the door. Sherlock followed behind, mind racing while trying so desperately to figure what John was about to spill. It was all cut off, however, when John opened the door and was just turning to leave when he spotted Mycroft standing in the open door, eyes narrowed in a glare. “John Watson I presume.” 

John was frozen on the spot, he too gave the taller man a once over before shoving his hands in his jacket and holding his head up high, “Whose asking.” 

Mycroft looked down his nose and Sherlock took the opportunity to grab John and shimmy them both around Mycroft. “Don't mind him, John. My brother has nothing better than to stick his big nose in other people's business it seems.” 

John shot the elder Holmes a look before following behind the taller boy to the street. “That's Mycroft. In another life, I swear he was born a cockroach.” 

“Seems nice.” John grinned.

“Don't be an idiot” Sherlock smiled and he saw John's cheeks colour at the remark but the grin not falter. 

They stood on the street just looking at each other until John coughed awkwardly and gestured with his thumb to the street, “I should…go.” 

“Oh…yea. Sure.” 

They waved and said their goodbyes once again before John set on his way home. Sherlock had remained in his spot and just watched the figure move in the distance. The one thing that blocked his mind palace, however, was the comment John had made before cutting himself short. 

His father.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very sorry for the delay. It was a lot longer than I was anticipating but I was going through some personal stuff. So without further ado......A NEW CHAPTER! 
> 
> Hopefully I will be able to update quicker now and good news (or bad) is that the story is almost finished!

Sherlock had barely slept that night, nor did he even bother with breakfast in the morning. His mind was completely wrapped around the mystery of John. It bothered him enough that he ignored Mycroft's looks before leaving for school. 

Upon entering his first class, Sherlock caught the frown on Lestrade’s face as he made his way to his seat. He did his usual routine, pulling out his binder and group of pens, before sitting down. 

“That's a new shiner,” Greg pointed out the colouring bruise and small cut, “Did ‘you-know-who’ give it to ya?”

Sherlock nodded stiffly at the question and grimaced at the throbbing pain in his chest. 

“What a wanker he is. You ok, mate?”

“I'm fine, _Graham_ ” Sherlock snapped, getting slightly irritated with all the questions. He had better things to think about than himself - John Watson was the new focus. 

Greg’s lips thinned and he did a little nod before turning back properly in his seat and began doodling on his notebook. 

Class ran on very slowly once Miss Morstan stepped into the room. Jim had zeroed in on the troubled look that now won over Sherlock's face and didn't stop patronizing him throughout class - sending rolled up balls of papers in the direction of Sherlock's head and also flicking staples into his hair whenever the boy marched over to the pencil sharpener as an excuse to get closer. 

Jim knew something was up. And he was taking every opportunity to zone in on that hint of discomfort. Sherlock's eyes narrowed through each deduction until the bell rang and he was off to music class. 

John was absent from class once again and because of that, Sherlock's mind was everywhere but in the classroom. He had flubbed several times on the violin which made Mrs Hudson shoot him some questioning glances. It was when the class was emptying and only Mrs Hudson and Sherlock that remained, when she approached him on the matter. “Sherlock, would you mind staying for a few minutes?” She asked, gently closing the lid of the piano. Sherlock clicked the last clasp of his case closed before turning in her direction. 

Mrs Hudson walked over and sat on the stool next to his seat, “I've noticed you've been preoccupied with something other than today's practise. Is everything alright?”

Sherlock was a bit taken aback by the question but nodded in response. 

Mrs Hudson frowned, “Are you sure, dear? I noticed you've looked at John Watson’s empty seat several times. Are you two having a row?” 

“No, Mrs Hudson. It's just-“ Sherlock's mind clicked into place before his eyes widened in recognition. Of course…..he cleared his throat before continuing, “Mrs Hudson, are you aware of the rumours behind John Watson? The one where he pushed that boy out the second story window?”

The older woman laughed out loud while Sherlock looked on, a tad concerned. “Oh heavens, is that what the children are discussing nowadays? Oh, Sherlock, John did no such thing.”

“So they were indeed just rumours…”

“Of course they were, dear! What a ridiculous claim!”

Sherlock smirked at the news. “So then the news about John Watson killing his sister is false as well.” 

Mrs Hudson’s face fell and her eyes turned downcast, “Who told you that, Sherlock?” 

“Lestrade.” 

“Gregory Lestrade?”

Sherlock nodded. What an ordinary name. _Greg_.

Mrs Hudson took a breath before placing her hands on her lap. It was an odd sight to Sherlock as if Greg for once was correct. He mapped out the nervous twitch of her thumb and the troubled look on her brow. There was something to uncover here, and Sherlock wanted to know what. “Is it true then, Mrs Hudson?” 

“What do you believe?” 

Sherlock couldn't answer. It was what bothered him the most upon leaving the classroom with a quiet ‘good day, Mrs Hudson’ and as the bell rang for lunch, his feet automatically guided him to the cafeteria. He thought of the flash of metal he saw in John's med kit - the handgun. He thought of the fear in John's eyes upon the arrival of his father, and the way his left hand spasmed when he made a fist. He thought of the way…..the way that John avoided anything about himself. When Sherlock opened up the doors of the lunchroom he met dark blue eyes at their table.

Seated next to a slightly uncomfortable looking Lestrade, sat John. Sherlock paused at the doorway.

_What do I believe?_


	14. Chapter 14

Sherlock approached the table slowly, mind going through every deduction of John who was seated at their table. John was still flashing a nice cut lip from yesterday's events and he had tried to cover up the bruising on his hands to no avail by pulling down his rugby jacket sleeves. Sherlock knew better. 

He had made it to the middle of the lunchroom when a hand clamped down on his shoulder. “Looking a little beat up ‘Lockie.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and caught the look of annoyance on John's face before he turned around to face non-other than Jim Moriarty. The dark black eyes of the other boy grew predator like as if he was planning this moment all morning. Irene stood beside him; chewing gum snapping between her teeth, with Wilkes on the other side - a dumb look on his face. 

“You avoiding other people's payments too?” Jim asked, fake smile and cocked eyebrow at the ready. 

Sherlock was highly unimpressed, trying to shrug off the grip still on his shoulder that only tightened at his movement. The room had gone quiet and still except for the sound of a plastic chair being pulled out that had Sherlock grin slightly. 

“Problem over here?” _John_. 

Sherlock turned his head and grinned at the tidy blonde head beside him.

“I don't know, Johnny boy….is there?” Jim sang.

_Wait...what?_

Sherlock's eyes widened and his head snapped back to the group of miscreants. Jim never _ever_ talked back. Jim was supposed to be scared, not cocky. 

There was a deep chuckle from behind them and not even a second later Sherlock was turned around to be faced with Jim's muscle, Sebastian Moran. “Seems like someone’s added to the canvas, eh? New bruises to match the old.” 

“Bugger off, Moran” John interjected, taking the opportunity to close the gap between the two boys and putting himself in front of Sherlock once again.  

The next moment happened in a blur. Sherlock couldn't even tell who had the first punch, only that in the next second both John and Moran were wrestling on the lunchroom floor. 

Sherlock was frozen on the spot, mouth agape. John was trying his best to fight back, but Moran had the advantage in both weight and height. It had felt like hours passed of them brawling - Moran clearly having the upper hand by pinning John to the ground and taking a few swings to the head and gut. It was a sight that made Sherlock's stomach turn in disgust as he watched blood dribble from John's nose as the boy tried his hardest to regain control. The sight shook him to his core and he shocked himself when he turned around to deliver a punch directly into the face of the laughing Jim Moriarty. It was his small victory. 

Teachers burst through the doors at that moment, rushing to the crowd of kids that were now circulating the event and cheering at the tops of the lungs. It was then when Sherlock felt a tug on his hand and was lead by Miss Morstan to the head office - catching the last glimpse of John before being pushed passed the ring of bodies. 

~~~~~

The boys were seated in a row. Irene and Wilkes must have fled before the arrival of the teachers because they were completely absent from the office. 

Sherlock turned his head to examine John beside him. The boy paid him no mind, staring straight ahead at Mr Stamford’s door with a bag of ice on his nose. John's face was void of any emotion. 

Sherlock looked at the door and then turned back to John, leaning in slightly “John I-"

The office door opened and Mike Stamford stood staring at the group with a furrowed brow before motioning them in with a tilt of his head. 

When the four boys were seated, Stamford took the opportunity to begin, “What in gods name happened out there, boys?”  

Everyone remained silent. 

“I'm extremely disappointed in the lot of you. Especially you Mr Watson and Mr Moran - you both should have known better. I will discuss more with both of you later, as you will be staying here until your parents arrive. Mr Holmes and Mr Moriarty you both are signed up for detention tomorrow after classes. This behaviour is unexpected from you Mr Holmes, as a straight A student I expected more from you.”

“I'm sorry, sir” Sherlock muttered, head bent in defeat but eyes glued to John's blank stare beside him. 

“I've sent a call to your parents but you both may leave and run to your last classes. If there's any more of this tom-foolery you will be back here, mark my words. Next time won't be as lenient.” 

Both Sherlock and Jim stood from their seats and proceeded out the door - Jim making sure to cast a fake and sly grin with his cut lip slightly bleeding before they parted. 

~~~~~

The final bell rang and Sherlock, joined by Greg, made their way to the main office. They had just turned the corner when they spotted John exit and Sherlock sped up his footsteps. “John!” he called and was just cast a quick look before John turned the other way and started walking. 

“He doesn't seem to be in the mood, mate, maybe we better give him some space” Lestrade commented but it was said upon deaf ears as Sherlock took that opportunity to run. 

“John!”

“Leave me alone, Sherlock” the blonde called back, still walking toward the exit doors.

Sherlock took that moment to speed up until he was right behind him when John rounded on him; his nose was discoloured and bloody, his already cut lip was deeper, and the boy had looked utterly wrecked. “I said to leave me alone!”

“John I don't know what I did but I'm sorry!” 

John gave a humourless laugh, “That's the whole point, you don't do anything! You sit and you wait to get beat up. Defend yourself!” 

“John I-“ 

“But that's the thing isn't it, you can't. You just let other people do it for you. That's all I am to you isn't it, meat. Meat to be thrown around and bend to your every will because you can't do it yourself! I thought I was maybe your friend…”

“I don't have any friends.” 

John paused. Looking at him with pain in his eyes before he turned to walk away once again. 

“Wait!”Sherlock called after him, “I don't have any friends - I've just got one!” 

John stopped, hand resting on the door. 

“John I….i need to know something. Something that's been on my mind for a while. I saw the gun in your lunchbox.” 

John froze.

“I need to know. Did you kill your sister?” 

There was a beat of silence that stretched on until the pang of realization hit. Sherlock's eyes widened in recognition. “You helped me because I couldn't defend myself. You needed to feel useful again, needed to feel like you could help someone. It's because you couldn't defend her, could you John?…” 

“Shut up!”

“Did you do it John?….Did you kill her?!"

There was a beat of silence. John slouched against the door, head leaning against the window in defeat before the quietest reply came from his shaky voice, “I did...” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments & Kudos always appreciated <3


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The moment of truth.

Sherlock stood there frozen on the spot. He took in the hunch of John's shoulders, the defeated look in his posture and then he saw the shaking. John shook and cried, holding onto the door for support and Sherlock just watched. Watched until he couldn't take it any longer and took a tentative step toward his friend. 

“I-I didn't mean to….I was just five and... h-he had it lying around…” John choked out. 

Sherlock reached him and gently turned him around in his arms, taking in the dried blood that still remained on his face with an attempt that tried to wipe it off. John's eyes were red and weeping and tears riddled his cheeks. It was the most vulnerable Sherlock had ever seen him and his heart broke a little at the sight. He didn't even think twice when he pulled the boy into his arms, and John burrowed his face in his neck. 

“It's ok, John” Sherlock whispered, placing his chin atop John's head. 

It only lasted a second when John must've realized the situation and pulled back, losing the grip Sherlock had on him. He rubbed his eyes viciously and wiped a sleeve over his face before composing himself into an emotionless mask and took a tentative step away. 

Sherlock let his arms fall to his sides but the need to have John back was pestering him and he wanted to comfort him if nothing else, “John-"

“He was drunk that day, just like all the others. Came home from wherever they shipped him off to and he brought it with him. The gun." 

There was a beat of silence before John took another shaky breath and continued, tone dry of any emotion, "He passed out in the lounge after having a fight with my mum and Harry was only three at the time...I-I thought it was one of the toy guns that you see on the telly, those ones you see American bobbies always running around with - thought it would've been a good idea to play with. Harry didn't even know what the hell I was on about, but we played chase all the same.”

Sherlock knew where the story was going right away. John didn't know what he was doing, didn't even realize his mistake before it was too late. But it wasn't his fault.

“I…..I didn't know that it was real….and I-I shot her…..shot my own sister…”

“John you were a child, you didn't know….”

“That's not the point, Sherlock!”

Sherlock froze. It was odd to hear his name fall from John's mouth a second time. 

“I killed a defenseless person! My own sister for Christ sakes!” 

Sherlock had enough. He walked up to John and grabbed hold of his shoulders in a tight grip, “Enough! You didn't kill her on purpose, it was a mistake! You cannot blame yourself for something that wasn't your fault!” 

John's head fell.

“As much as you hate to admit it, John, it was an accident. You need to move on, you can't hold onto this forever…Harry wouldn't want you to.” 

There was silence between them for a short time. It was a silence that didn't feel awkward or deafening, but one that they both needed. Sherlock took a breath, “You're a good person, John Watson, a good friend. Don't you forget that.” 

“You know I…I’ve never told anyone about that day…” John whispered, head still bent and eyes downcast. 

“I suppose that makes me special then” Sherlock tried in an amused tone.

John snorted a laugh and then looked up at him, eyes slightly watered, “You're a right twat too, Cheekbones.” 

Sherlock feigned hurt, “That awful name again, and we were doing so well” he grinned.

John laughed that time, wiping his eyes with his sleeve once again. When the air between them cooled, John took the opportunity to look at Sherlock once more with a small smile on his lips, “Thanks, Sherlock.”

Sherlock smiled back down at him with a faint blush, “This is a big turn of events, you thanking me.”

“Well ya better savor it, cuz it'll be the one and only time,” John grinned, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. 

“Dinner?” Sherlock sputtered out, eyes widening at the sudden outburst of confidence. Where that idea came from he had no idea. 

John eyed him, mouth slightly agape at the question but then he cleared his throat and rocked back on his heels, “I-I dunno…my da would want me home after what happened today…” he paused and then sighed, “Actually, you know what? I'm starving.”

Sherlock grinned, trying to play off how the excitement made his heart pound. “There's this really good Chinese takeout on the way to my house. Did you know, you can easily tell a good place by examining the bottom third of the door handle.” 

“Seriously?” John looked amazed for a split second before reading the coy smile on the other boy's lips, “Tosser."

The boys left the building together chatting away and completely ignoring the fact that Greg still remained standing awkwardly in the hallway. He had heard the whole thing. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments & Kudos are always appreciated <3


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